Tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow
by chaletfan
Summary: Xander comes to terms with what he's lost. And who. Slight Macbeth influences. Post season 7, pre season 8. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**1**

"Being a fighter, a hero, it's more than that. It's about standing up for what you believe in. Standing up and being counted." He finished speaking and gazed at the women. "Nobody's making you do this. Frankly I'm not sure if I could even try to make any of you do anything."

One of them caught his eye. A pale redhead. She stood up. "What about if we want to? I'm Team Edward all the way."

He shook his head. "Team Edward don't cut it. Reality check for you Twihards is that not every vampire out there wants to be your soul mate. Frankly she got it wrong. Twilight's been such a PR coup for the undead that we're kinda suspicious that the author doesn't, you know, sparkle in the sunlight herself. Although vamps sparkling? Purlease."

The girl stared at him. He shrugged. "Yes, I've read it. And FYI I'm totally Team Jacob."

She continued staring and then slowly sat back down. "Team Jacob? Really?"

"Yes," said Xander firmly, "And don't even get me started on the whole 'Renesmee' thing." He suddenly remembered where he was, coughed a little as he tried to regain his composure and then he continued. "So. This is where, to quote my favourite world saver, you make a choice. And, if you choose to join us, then we're grateful. Beyond the saying of. But if you don't, then no big. Just remember that you're not alone."

They didn't applaud. They rarely did. It was the silence that spoke volumes. The silence that hung over the small group of women as they stared at the floor and decided to master their fate. The silence always deafened him.

He glanced at them one more time and then exited stage left. There were still remnants of the playgroup that had used the hall before them; popped balloons, smudged chalks and the remains of something which looked rather like the spinal cord of a demon he'd dispatched the other week. Tina had assured him it was just spaghetti. He still wasn't quite convinced.

They were still silent. The women. All silent and floor-staring, a hint of electricity in the air. He paused at the side of the dais and then slowly walked through the crowd, his eye on the door. They needed to think and he needed to breathe. Fresh air would be good. English summers weren't supposed to be this hot. The weather was ruining a good stock of clichés he'd had all prepared for this trip. And what on earth would he say to Giles? Weather was lovely? There was no way he'd believe that. Damned if he did tell the truth and damned if he didn't.

"Rock meet hard place." His hand rested on the door as Tina moved over to walk with him. He tilted his head outside and the two of them exited and made their way towards the small bench at the front of the hall. She had a look on her face that he didn't want to decipher. Experience had taught him it was always best to ask. "What's up?"

"I'm worried about them." She jerked her thumb back inside. "Are they always so-"

"Yes," he said. "Always."

"Huh." They fell into silence. Xander considered the woman sat next to him. A civilian. Like him. Fallen into the battle against the dark before either of them quite knew what they were getting themselves into.

"I'm sorry about your sister."

A shadow flew across Tina's face. "Yes. Thank you."

So much loss. So much pain and heartache and love that tore your heart right out of your chest. It was hard, this life, but he'd choose no other. Despite everything that had happened to him, he wouldn't change a damn thing. And some days he didn't know how he felt about that.

Tina spoke: "If they say no?"

"They say no."He was clear on that point. Had hoped the message had sunk in but from Tina's question, he suddenly wasn't sure about it. He decided to reinforce the point. "We make a difference Tina, but we do it from choice. That's what we're all about. Choice."

"Anger," she replied. "That's my motivation. All I need."

"That's not okay." She flared a look of sudden sharp anger at him. He took the look and threw it right back at her. "It's not okay to do this from hate. Or anger. Or anything remotely dark side related. Trust me, I know this. It gets you nowhere." Well, to be truthful, it did get you somewhere. It got you deeper into the rage. Deeper into the fear. Deeper into the pain. It made you feel like there was no way ever to come back.

"It's got me this far." Her voice was brittle. Defensive. Hurt. He could understand that. He had been there, right there in her shoes, and he knew how it felt.

"It'll get you killed," he said.

"It might."

"It will." He stood up and glanced back at the hall. "Tina, I can't let you lead these girls in that frame of mind. I don't want them to" – Faith- "I don't want them to slip from their paths."

"And what is their path?" She glared at him. "I expected Xander Harris and all I get is some hippie crap? I thought you were a soldier. I know about you, Harris, I know we're more similar than you care to mention."

"You know nothing about me." His voice was calm. Controlled. Truth-telling. "Because if you did, then you'd know that I fight when I have to fight. Doesn't mean it's my first choice. There's always another choice, Tina, you just have to see it." He heard movement from inside. "I have to go check on the recruits. See if anybody's taking the plane back with me."

"To America?"

"Scotland. We've got a base of ops there."

"Chilly."

"We've got one there too." He nodded at her, walked back into the hall, and it was only when he opened the door when the smell of blood hit him.


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

If there was something growing up in Sunnydale had given him, it was swift reflexes. You learnt to duck and cover, to roll with the punches and to run when the situation demanded it. Sadly the situation demanded it quite often.

He slammed the door shut, head snapping to where he'd left Tina. "Get up. Run. Now." No time for emotion. No time for extremes of reaction. Just time for them to close hands, lock on each other and race into the village, towards his car.

Tina kept pace, didn't ask questions, didn't speak, just kept her head down and ran with him, matching his pace. He could feel her fear though, the bravado of earlier melting away and leaving the real behind. He tightened his grip around her, hoping somehow to speak without saying words. They didn't have time for words.

The shadows of the houses were lengthening in front of him and he glanced up at the sky. Not good. Nowhere near sunset and darkness was falling. Not anywhere remotely approaching good. Impromptu darkness usually meant promptu evil. Of the biggest and baddest kinds.

They ran. Feet pounding the street and hearts beating out of their chests. He saw the hire car in the distance Too far. The darkness and the hot breath behind them grew closer. He looked at the car again. Knew the distance. Knew they wouldn't make it.

"TINA!"

He leant into her and bodily pushed her into a garden hedge. They rolled, together, limbs knotted, shrubbery spilling around them and a sudden shaft of light erupted out of the darkness as the shadow-monster rolled past them.

Tina was the first to speak. "What the hell?"

"Less talk," said Xander. "More run." He stared at the lumbering mass of darkness that was swallowing the village. "I can't handle this."

"It's okay." She rested her hand on his brow.

The sudden intimacy startled him and he pulled away, panic pulsing in his throat, "Get off me!"

Tina stared and then she screamed because the shadow had come back.

Xander stood up in front of it and smiled.

"Hello, nasty."

It paused. The shadow froze in front of him.

"You understood that didn't you?" He flicked his eyes over the mass and realized he could make out limbs. Lots of limbs. And something else. Features that he tried to commit to memory. "Can you talk?" They weren't dead yet. They had the advantage. Something about the two of them was different.

And then he knew.

"Slayers."

The thing nodded and a low wheeze escaped it and one word dropped into the air between them: "Yes."

"Then go," Tina scrabbled up from the ground and stood next to Xander. He could feel her shaking. "We're not Slayers."

"No," said the shadow, "_You_ are nothing to me," and it drew a limb, a shadow, a tendril of smoke in a sharp right hand gesture. Tina cried out one last awful time before collapsing onto the floor. Dead.

Xander folded. He'd had this moment too many times.

The monster watched him. Impassively stating: "You on the other hand are special."

"And you've only just noticed?" A flash of light between them. A woman, small, petite, golden. "Dumbass. We knew all along." She flung something into the shadow and turned to Xander, whilst the thing behind her screamed and cindered.

"Come home," she said.

And he took her arm. Like he always would.


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

"He's not moving."

Buffy looked out of the window and down at the figure sat in the courtyard. "No," she said, "No he's not."

"Is he-"

"I don't know." She sighed. Closed her eyes briefly and shut out the chattering noise beneath her. Around her. In her bones. The life force of the Slayers. The sheer noise. The hardest thing to get used to was the noise.

"Is it-"

"Enough," she said, "I don't know what to do."

The girl. Satsu? Was that her name? She looked at Buffy with a warm, soft expression. "That's okay."

"No," said Buffy and she turned away to hide the tears running down her face. "No it's not."


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

Xander felt the first drops of rain beat down on his back. When Scotland did cold, it did cold. He'd considered thermal underwear for the first time the other week. The thought had scared him.

He didn't move though. He couldn't. His energy was gone. He just couldn't care any more. He had nothing left to give.

Was this it? Was this all he was? Was this his gift? Was this his power?

To bring death and pain down onto those who didn't deserve it. He was bad as a vampire. Going to the life-filled and sucking them dry.

He just – he just – and then all he could see was her. His wise-cracking heart-knowing truth-telling woman. He cried out: "ANYA!" and he knew it was pointless, knew nothing would happen, knew it all before he said it but said it anyway.

"Oh Anya." Smaller this time. His voice cracking into the emptiness. "Oh love." He folded his arms around himself and sobbed dry tears at the fact that there wasn't another inside the embrace. "I love you. Loved you. Love you. So much. Always did." He swallowed. "Always."

The walls leant in on him and he was cocooned inside his pain. Flickers of the life he'd chosen to live flared at the edge of his vision and he ignored them. He was all alone and drowning in the dark. This was it then. His life. His future. To kill those he loved.

He couldn't do that.

Suddenly he stood up and reached for the thing in front of him. A knife, blood-stained and glinting with the promise of relief. He grasped it and then lost it as sanity pulled him back. A vision. An illusion. An image borne on the Highland wind. A Like everything else. It wasn't real. Had never been real. Decision made and purpose led, Xander walked back inside the castle.

It wasn't real.

But he could make it so.


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

Nameless. Faceless. Slayers. There were so many now. More than he'd ever imagined. Women with the power. Women with the strength of a thousand hearts. Full of love and power and strength. Noble. Whole.

He continued walking. There were plenty of weapons to choose from but going to the armory was too obvious. His demons led him to the kitchens, the great vaulted halls that had prepared meals for kings and chieftains in the past.

The kitchens were deserted. Pots and pans were sorcers-apprenticed in neat rows along the side. Food in massive fridges. Long roughly hewn benches and tables bearing forgotten cups, half-eaten meals and a sword, carefully laid in the remnants of a birthday cake.

He ignored the detritus of life and went to the knife drawer. And it was there. The one he'd seen in the courtyard. Clean, now, and shining with nothing more sinister than the slightly OCD leanings of Carissa.

Xander paused. A name. A slayer. A friend.

His demons pushed him.

And he saw her dead. Saw her dead, saw all the girls dead, and saw himself holding the bloody sword.

He picked up the knife. Held it towards his heart, and laid the tip on his skin, pressing it in, feeling the sharpness begin to bite at his skin.

So easy. So swift. A moments pain. A lifetimes release.

"Mr Harris?"

He turned, the knife falling out of his suddenly sweating palm, and saw a woman in front of him. He struggled for the name, pushing past the fog inside his brain.

She bit her lip. "Renee."

He stared at her. Saw the knife between them, their eyes both resting on it, their mouths not speaking. The elephant in the room trumpeted.

Renee looked back at him.

He saw her. Saw her whole and alive and standing there in front of him. Saw her glowing with the life that so terrified him.

"Tell me about her," she said. "Your ex."

It hurt to say it. Hurt to speak the word aloud. But he did. Forced the word past his lips and suddenly he reclaimed her from the darkness. "Anya."

Renee nodded. Jerked her head towards the table. "Sit with me." A pause. "Please."

He couldn't move.

"The others. They say she was there. At Sunnydale. She must have been brave."

He nodded. A word. One word. All it needed: "Yes."

She smiled. Sad. Gentle. Loving. "You must be so proud of her."

"Yes," he said, "Oh God yes."

His feet unglued themselves and suddenly he was walking towards Renee and she clasped his hand and together they made for the table, close, unafraid, together. "Tell me about her," said the Slayer, "Bring her back for me."

He smiled. Finally knew the truth. Knew that she'd never gone.


End file.
